You may have noticed that yesterday's poem went through two modifications before Fio was satisfied with it, That's how it goes--anything Fiorella writes or paints is subject to revision until she gets it right. But why does Fio rhyme so much, you ask. Because rhymes are always whirling around in her head like a swarm of demented fireflies--buys/size/lies/tries/dies/guys/highs/pies/rise/ties/thighs/ies/wise/
shies/stys/guise. And then there are the half-rhymes....
The elctronic world has passed Fiorella by. She writes on una computadora, uses email, and knows how to text, but that's it. On the other hand, she can also write longhand, use a landline, communicate by letter, and even start a fire without turning on the gas, so maybe she'll survive in a hut out in the woods somewhere.
The ecoles must have closed down for summer vacation because France, which bolstered Fiorella's readership to flatteringly high numbers, has deserted her again. You know Fio's theory--that English professeurs are using her blog to illustrate Ameican colloquialisms.
The end of La Piloto is near. The villains have been winnowed down to Yolanda's former lover, his current girlfriend, the crazed colonel, la bruja, and a crew of disposible extras. No dramatic death scenes like the ones in El Color de la Pasion, though. Just bang, bang---you're dead.
The temperatures are climbing here in central Texas. It's going to be a 100-degree week so think cooling thoughts in Fio's direction. She was not born for hot weather. Remember her genealogy.